


An Open Heart is an Open Wound

by only_halfway_there



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, F/M, Inspired by a Movie, florist!Killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_halfway_there/pseuds/only_halfway_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A random act of kindness becomes so much more for two lonely, broken souls.  Inspired by "The Words" by Christina Perri, and the movie "Bed of Roses".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All of the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> So there have been a billion things written and inspired by "The Words" music video, and I'm here to make it a billion and one. This is an idea that I've been playing with for a while now, and that glorious music video just pushed me over the edge to actually writing it. If you've never seen "Bed of Roses" - it's a movie, Christian Slater is in it - well, you should check it out. It will give you mad CS feels. This fic was definitely inspired by that movie as well as Christina's song. I hope you guys like this.

**Chapter One**  
 _**All of the Lights** _

It was late January, and the wind was far too biting for anyone sane to be out walking the streets of the city, especially at this hour. But it had been a long time since anyone had accused Killian Jones of sanity.

Every night, like clockwork, he closed up shop and then walked aimlessly - sometimes for a few hours, sometimes just once or twice around the block. It just depended on the day, and his mood. He never had any particular destination, he never spoke to anyone or really even  _looked_  at any of his surroundings. He just  _walked_. It was a better alternative, in his mind, to going home to that empty farmhouse on the outskirts of town that was far too haunted with memories and ghosts of the past that just wouldn't die.

The weatherman on the classic rock station he listened to in the shop said that a Nor'easter was expected to blow in sometime in the next forty-eight hours. Killian just turned up his collar and pulled on his coat, killing the lights and locking the door behind him.

There had been a blizzard the night he'd lost everything.

He definitely needed to walk.

There was nothing different about this particular night, not really. The chill nipped at the tips of his ears - he really should invest in a hat - and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his eyes down as he took his normal route around the block his shop was located on.

There wasn't anything different about tonight at all, really.

Except this was the night he looked  _up_.

_oXo_

"Emma, there's a delivery for you at reception!"

Emma Swan inwardly groaned, looking up from the computer screen where she'd been doing case research. This paralegal gig wasn't really everything she'd dreamed of and more, but she'd needed  _something_  different, a change of pace, once she'd come to the realization that her job as a bailbonds person wasn't ever going to enable her to find what she was looking for.

She hadn't slept for shit the night before, either, not since she'd gotten the phone call. She'd never really had a  _family_ , but Ingrid had been as close as she got ... she quickly pushed the thoughts away. She didn't need to dwell on it right now, not when she had piles of cases to do research for.

And Ruby's chirping voice over the intercom wasn't really helping matters.

Emma pressed the button on her phone. "What is it?" she asked the receptionist warily. No one ever sent her anything - especially not at  _work_. It was probably more case files. She'd probably have to work this weekend again. Fantastic.

"Delivery for you at reception," Ruby repeated, slower now, and Emma could  _hear_  her grinning, and she hated that even more. She never knew if the receptionist was friend or foe, honestly, but maybe that had more to do with the fact that she felt that way about  _everyone_ , pretty much.

Grumbling to herself irritably, she pushed her chair back from her desk and stood up, smoothing out her blue silk blouse and straightening her pencil skirt - she really  _hated_  the dress code in this place, too, she would much rather be in jeans. She made her way out of the office she shared with the other legal assistants and headed for the elevator, punching the button for the lobby, a scowl marring her features at the interruption.

As soon as the elevator swished open to the ground floor, Emma's scowl turned to confusion. She didn't see any delivery guys, no packages. She swore she was going to  _wring_  Ruby's neck if this was some kind of stupid prank. Her eyes were drawn to the reception desk then, where she saw a breathtakingly beautiful floral display - orchids, if she wasn't mistaken, potted in what looked to be a hand-hewn sort of crate.

"Emma Swan?"

She blinked at the guy -  _man_  - who appeared from behind the tall blooms then. He was as striking as the flowers, truth be told - maybe even more so. He had dark hair and about a day's worth of stubble along his jawline, and the  _bluest_  eyes she'd ever seen.

"Are you ... Emma Swan?" he asked again, and she realized she'd been staring. She felt her cheeks going red as she noted the way he quirked his brow at her, an amused sort of half-smirk tugging one corner of his lips upward, making him even  _more_  attractive than he had been a second ago.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm ... Emma," she said, shaking her head and looking down, hoping to break the reverie she'd found herself in.

"These are for you," he said, handing her the clipboard he held so she could sign her name.  _The flowers?_ Who the fuck was sending her  _flowers_? And expensive,  _beautiful_  ones at that? She hadn't told anyone about Ingrid, she'd only just found out last night - they couldn't be condolences or anything. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she signed her name and handed the clipboard back to the man.

"Who are they from?" she asked, looking for a card somewhere in the arrangement, and finding only the florist's card, nothing else.

"If you put some aspirin in the soil, the flowers will live longer," he said, seemingly avoiding her question outright, and she almost forgot to care, the lilting accent of his voice was a little mesmerizing. "Sounds strange, I know, but it works." He glanced back at her then, and she thought she could sense the faintest twinge of sadness there in his gaze.

"Thanks ... " Emma said, a little absently as she looked at the flowers, still trying to locate some sort of indication of who they were from and more than a little confused by the whole thing. "Can you tell me where they came from?" She looked up, but the man was gone. "What the fuck?" she muttered under her breath.

"Who are they from?"

Emma gave a shout of surprise, all but jumping about a mile into the air at Ruby's voice behind her. She turned to face the brunette receptionist, blowing out a breath. "I don't  _know_ ," she said, a little sullenly. "There's no card."

"Well, whoever it was has  _great_  taste. These are gorgeous."

Emma couldn't really deny that, but it didn't change the fact that not knowing  _who_  had been so generous -  _and why_  - was going to drive her insane. She gingerly picked up the crate the flowers were in and carried it back to the elevator, and into the office. She was glad the others who shared the space were either out for the day or busy on other assignments, because she didn't really want to deal with a billion questions right now.

She dialed Elsa first, reaching her best friend's voice mail. "Did you or Anna send me flowers?" she asked without preamble, cutting the message off at that and setting her phone back down on her desk. She checked again for a card, in case she'd overlooked it the first five times.

Her fingers brushed over the delicate white petals as she tried to figure out who in their right mind would send these to her. She didn't have many friends, and she hadn't dated anyone  _seriously_  in well over five years now.

The only person who would have  _ever_  sent her flowers like these was Ingrid. But Ingrid was gone now. She was on the verge of crying again - the way she'd spent all last night, once she'd gotten the call - when her phone rang, and Elsa's smiling face showed up on her screen.

Emma had barely gotten a chance to answer when Elsa started in. "Someone sent you  _flowers_?" she practically screeched, and in that moment, Emma swore her best friend sounded more like Anna than should be allowed. God knew, the world didn't need  _two_. "I swear it wasn't me, and I really don't think it was Anna."

"I doubt it was Anna," Emma said with a sigh, looking back at the flowers. "These look ... pretty pricey, and I would kick her ass if she was spending money like this on me. She's got a wedding to prepare for."

"What kind?" Elsa asked as if she hadn't heard a  _word_  Emma had just said, and Emma rolled her eyes. Of course, instead of helping her solve this mystery, her friend just wanted the details.

"I don't know," Emma said a little helplessly. "Orchids or something. They're beautiful, I just ... "

"Look. It's almost five. Meet me and Anna at Charlie's in half an hour, okay? And Emma,  _stop_  freaking out. They're  _flowers_. They're supposed to make you happy."

Charlie's was the bar just down the street from where Emma worked. She and the Arendelle sisters had spent many a happy hour there over the past few years. "Fine," Emma said resignedly, knowing there was no point arguing. If she said no, Elsa would just make Anna call her, and Anna would end up showing up here and  _dragging_  her out, kicking and screaming.

Almost 30 minutes later exactly, Emma was walking through the door of Charlie's, holding her crate of misbegotten orchids and a querulous expression on her face. Anna stood up from the table she and Elsa were sitting at, waving at Emma frantically, and Emma made her way toward the back. Luckily it was the middle of the week and the bar wasn't all that crowded at this hour.

"Are those them?" Anna asked, her blue-green eyes wide and shining as she reached to take the flowers from Emma. "These are  _beautiful_. Orchids would be nice for the wedding, wouldn't they?"

"Orchids are expensive," Elsa pointed out, "I thought you wanted  _simple_."

Emma would have been more than  _happy_  to listen to the sisters talk about Anna's wedding plans, if it meant the focus stayed off of her. She really should have known better.

Anna waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter right now," she said with an easy shrug. "The wedding's not for  _months_." She looked back at the flowers, then at Emma, grinning impishly. "Someone sent you flowers."

" _Excellent_ deduction, brain trust," Elsa said dryly, smiling at her sister affectionately.

" _No_ ," Anna said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "I mean ...  _someone_. It wasn't you or me - like I could afford those anyway - and you haven't dated in like forever, unless you're not telling us something, in which case ... "

Emma just shook her head. "Definitely not dating anyone," she said with wry smile, cutting off Anna's ramblings.

" _Yet_ ," Anna said pointedly. "Emma. Someone  _likes_  you."

"Oh, come  _on_ ," Emma said, giving Anna an incredulous look. "Nobody  _likes_  me, Anna, that's ridiculous. I don't  _know_  anyone."

"Well who's fault is that?" Elsa asked, interjecting then. "It isn't like we haven't  _tried_  setting you up ... "

"I don't want to  _be_  set up," Emma said, shaking her head firmly. "I hate the idea of blind dates and I just ... " She made a face, grateful for the interruption when a waitress came by to take their drink orders. "It has to be some mistake," she said once the waitress was gone again.

"You signed for them didn't you?" Elsa asked her. "I don't think it's a mistake, Emma.  _Someone_  wanted you to have these. Maybe Anna's right. You never know when you might make an impression on someone."

"They keep records of these things, don't they? At the florist's, I mean. Maybe I should go talk to the owner. Surely they can tell me who sent them." She decided to leave out the part about the hella attractive delivery guy. She didn't need the sisters Arendelle scheming about her love life  _again_.

"Or you could just let this play itself out," Anna said, giving her a serious look then, resting her chin in her hand and leaning forward on the table. "If someone likes you, sooner or later, they'll reveal themselves." Anna had that dreamy, faraway look in her eyes, and Emma could just  _tell_  she was envisioning some sort of double wedding scenario.

God save her from the hopeless romantics of the world.

Elsa laughed then, shaking her head. "We both know that that isn't going to happen. Emma can't stand surprises and this will eat her alive until she figures it out." She flicked the card from the little holder among the flowers. "The address isn't far from your place, actually," she said, reading the stock florist card. "It's actually on the corner of your street."

Emma's brow furrowed as she took the card from her friend.  _Jones Floral and Arrangements_. She'd passed that shop thousands of times, never really thinking anything about it. "Maybe I'll stop by on my way home. It says they're open til nine."

"I still think it would be better to wait and see," Anna said, smiling her thanks at the waitress when she brought their drinks out to them.

"Wait and see has never done me much good," Emma muttered glumly, looking down into her glass with a sigh.

It was a little after seven when she left Charlie's, and she was feeling a little bit emboldened from the few drinks she'd had. Luckily they'd dropped the subject of her would-be secret admirer and focused on Anna's wedding talk, which was fine with her.

But now that it was just her again - she was bound and determined to figure out  _who_  had sent her these infernal flowers. With a new sense of purpose, she pushed open the door of the florist, the little bell chiming to herald her arrival. She took a deep breath, the scent of greenery and flowers filling her nose. The roses, in particular, brought on a wave of wistfulness. Ingrid had always kept roses in a vase, in her foyer ...

"May I help yo - "

The man who'd delivered the orchids to her earlier had come out of the back room when he'd heard the bell, and again, Emma found herself more than a little unprepared for the _sight_  of him. He was even taller than she remembered from earlier, dressed in a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed back. She could see a tattoo on his forearm, though she couldn't make it out from this distance. He seemed just as surprised to see her there.

She was staring again.

"Is there a problem with the flowers, lass?" he asked, nodding his head at them. She thought he looked tired. But then, she didn't really  _know_  him, so who was she to say?

"Yes," Emma said, then shook her head. "I mean, no, they're ... beautiful, it's just that ... there was no  _card_."

"Swan, right?" he said with a faint smile on his lips. She was a little impressed that he remembered - he probably made dozens of deliveries a day. She nodded. "I wish that I could answer your question, love," he said, holding his hands out apologetically in front of him. "It just seemed ... very important that it be a secret."

Emma's brow creased at that. "I don't really care for secrets," she said. "May I speak to your boss?"

He seemed amused by that, a low, rumbling chuckle rising from his throat. "Afraid that's not possible tonight," he told her, and she got the distinct feeling that there was a  _lot_  he wasn't saying.

She was getting annoyed now.  _More_  annoyed. She set the orchids down on the table nearest her, blowing out an exasperated breath. "Great. Look, I just want to know who sent the damn flowers."

He stepped forward then, his eyes searching as they regarded her - she felt like he was staring into her  _soul_  with those beautiful blue eyes of his. "You can't just accept that it might have been a random act of kindness?" he said, and his voice was quieter then, enough so that Emma  _almost_  wanted to lean in closer to hear him.

"Random acts of kindness don't exist in my world," Emma told him with a frown.

"Well, maybe that's exactly  _why_  you need to accept this one." There was an edge to his voice then, and Emma's brows went up, a little shiver racing down her spine. There was a darker aura to this man, one that suggested his past hadn't been a bed of roses either. (Pun intended.) "You know not everyone's out to hurt you, love. Not everyone has some ulterior motive."

That took her aback. The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, as if he saw  _exactly_  what she feared and had put words to it. It was uncanny, it was a little bit scary - her heart was racing as she looked at him. When their eyes met, for about a half-second, she swore she saw something in his that mirrored hers perfectly. She opened her mouth to ask him how he could  _possibly_  know about any of that, but promptly shut it once again.

"What's it to you whether I want to accept these or not?" she shook her head, reaching for her flowers once again. "I'll be back tomorrow, maybe your boss will be available  _then_." She turned on her heel and all but stomped out of the shop. She had half a mind to throw the damn things in the receptacle on the corner of the street, but something stopped her.

When she glanced back over her shoulder, she could see him, just inside the window, watching her walk away.

Like the night before, Emma found it difficult to sleep once again. Her mind was full, her heart heavy, reeling from loss and aching with confusion over today's turn of events. And every time she closed her eyes, trying to  _will_  herself to sleep, she saw blue eyes looking back at her.

There was no reason he should be effecting her the way that he was. He was nobody - he was nothing. And yet the things he'd said had gotten under her skin, and she couldn't help it, she was  _curious_  about him, about what led him to the life he had, about why he seemed to  _know_  her, just by looking into her eyes.

Morning came before she was ready to greet it, and with it, it brought that promised blast of winter weather. There was a light dusting of snow on her windowpanes when she flipped on her coffeemaker, padding barefoot through her apartment, still bleary and groggy from lack of sleep. She wanted to get an early start today, because she  _was_  going to find out who sent the flowers, if it fucking killed her.

The knock on her door surprised her. It was just after seven a.m.,  _nobody_  she associated with was ever up this early. Fearing something was wrong with Elsa or Anna, her heart was in her throat when she answered it. She didn't think she could take it if something had happened to one of them. They were all she had left now.

Her fear turned to annoyance and anger when she opened the door to see  _him_  standing there. He had the good sense to look awkward and uncomfortable at the very least. "Are you  _stalking_  me now?" She put one hand up, the other on the door, poised to slam it in his face.

He scratched the back of his neck and damn it all, if it wasn't  _endearing as fuck_. "Don't ... just hear me out."

Emma's mouth was a thin line, and even though logic stated that she ought to be slamming the door and calling the cops, her emotions made her pause. "What the hell are you doing here, then?" she asked him, brows raised expectantly, silently saying  _This better be good_.

"I don't normally do this, love, so treasure it," he said with a quick grin in her direction, and Emma tilted her head to the side, clearly nonplussed by his attempt to be charming. If that's what he was doing. "I came to apologize. I thought ... well, it doesn't matter what I thought now." He sighed heavily, pushing a hand through his hair, before he went on to say the very  _last_  thing Emma expected.

" _I_  sent you the flowers. And if you'll give me a chance, I'll explain why."


	2. Every Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have mentioned in the first chapter that this is not planned out as a long fic. I'm hoping to have it wrapped up within ten chapters or less. And it is not in any, way, shape, or form meant to be anything but a cute little bit of fluff for everyone to enjoy, which I hope you do. Anyway! I really want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and favoriting this - it makes me happy to know that something I'm enjoying writing so much makes everyone else happy too.

**Chapter Two**  
 _**Every Step** _

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, her heart pounding so loudly that she was sure he'd be able to hear it. "What?" she finally managed, when she found the power of speech once again.

"I sent the flowers," he repeated, quieter now, looking fairly sheepish - she'd give him credit there, but nowhere else.

What the  _hell_?

"But you don't  _know_  me."

He hadn't made any moves to step closer to her, hadn't tried to shoulder his way into her apartment, she didn't  _feel_  any negative vibes from him, whatsoever ... but he confused her in such a way that  _that_  would have been easier for her to deal with, truth be told. She knew how to take care of herself in the case of an attack ... but this.

This was new.

"I might know you a bit better than you think, lass," he said, his voice still soft, low, melodic, the kind of voice made for telling stories in the dark and ...

She shook her head, her anger flaring again, but this time it was at herself for being so  _stupid_  and letting herself get carried away by a pair of baby blues and an accent. "I have a gun," she snapped at him.

"I'm glad to hear it, love, but I don't think you'll need it for breakfast." He said this in a tone of voice reserved for conspiracies and secrets and this time when he smiled, the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, she got the distinct impression that he was amused by  _her_.

She wasn't sure if she was impressed by his gall or even more pissed off, and that confusion alone made her  _angrier_. At herself, mostly. He was just one more guy off the streets ... why did  _he_ , above all others, affect her like this?

She leveled him with a look, her brows arching upward. "I never said anything about breakfast," she told him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"No, you didn't," he replied easily, "but the shop doesn't open for another hour, and I'm hungry, and if you want to know  _why_  I sent you the flowers, perhaps you'll be so kind as to join me at the diner on the corner." He held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "It's a public place, I assure you, your dignity will remain  _intact_." He arched a brow at her, his gaze dropping ever-so-briefly to her lips, that same little smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he backed away from the door.

He was down the hallway before Emma had gotten hold of her wits once again - which wasn't  _like_  her. She had a snappy comeback for  _everything_ , but with him ... with him she felt more than a little lost.

She didn't even know his name.

Shaking her head, she shut the door to apartment once again, leaning back against it for a moment before pushing away from it with a sigh. She didn't  _have_  to know his name, she reminded herself. There was no reason she ever needed to see him again. She knew who sent the flowers now, did the reasons  _really_  matter that much?

 _Yes_ , an annoying little voice in her head whispered. And not just because of the stupid flowers, but because of  _him_. She wouldn't admit it, but he'd crawled under her skin somehow and she knew he was going to haunt her if she didn't figure out  _why_  someone, a perfect fucking stranger, would send  _her_ , of all people, an arrangement of flowers like that. What would possess someone to do that for someone they'd never even met?

She briefly considered calling Elsa, to ask her what she thought, but stopped herself. If she even  _vaguely admitted_ that there was a man behind this whole thing, Elsa would have Anna planning the wedding within the hour.

Her eyes landed on the orchids, sitting there on her coffee table, and Emma flopped onto the couch, dropping her face in her hands, and letting out a loud, long-suffering moan. "Son of a bitch," she muttered to herself, making her way to her room and flinging open her closet.

What the hell did you even wear to have breakfast with a complete stranger who sent you flowers for no damn reason at all?

Jeans and a sweater was the obvious answer, but then came the question of - baggy and shapeless? Soft and alluring? Form-fitting and sexy? She berated herself for that last thought - it was a question and answer session,  _nothing more_ , she just needed reasons.

But then she thought about his eyes and the sound of his voice and the way he'd looked at her right before he'd walked away.

God, he was probably a fucking psycho.

But then, he'd had ample opportunity, if that was all he was interested in, and he'd simply walked away, leaving absolutely  _everything_  about this newfound situation in her hands. She didn't even think she'd  _dated_  guys who'd been that considerate of what  _she_ wanted.

She was confused and she didn't like it.

By the time she'd made a decision, her room looked like a hurricane had gone through it. She ended up in skinny jeans, her tall, worn in black boots, and a simple soft grey cableknit sweater - not too tight, but not completely without shape. She pulled on her winter coat, the red one, and slid her gloves onto her hands before stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby.

She didn't have to go through with this, and she knew it. But she  _wanted_  to know why he'd done it, and that part of her that was constantly seeking answers for life's unexplained things ... well, it wanted all the answers here, too.

It took her a good ten minutes to work up the nerve to push open the door to the little diner - she knew the place well, she was a big fan of their pie at three in the morning. She sort of hated the little bell above the door when she stepped inside, she felt like absolutely  _everyone_  was watching her.

She didn't see  _him_  though, and she didn't know what to think about the sinking feeling in her stomach -  _disappointment, really?_  - but then the bell above the door rang again and she turned her head, seeing him step inside, running his hand through his hair to dispel the snowflakes that had settled there.

When he looked at her and smiled, Emma felt it all the way to her toes. No one had  _ever_  looked at her like that, like just seeing her had made their entire day. "Wasn't sure you were going to show," he said, nodding toward an empty booth a little further inside. "I waited outside, but you walked right past me."

"Sorry," was all Emma could manage, and it sounded cold and brisk to her ears. She internally winced. "I guess I wasn't paying attention," she amended quickly. Which was the truth - she'd been completely lost in thought.

"No worries," he said, flashing her a quick grin. "I didn't want to startle you, the way you were pacing around out there ... I thought you might change your mind." He slid off his coat and draped it over the back of the booth before sitting down, and Emma tried not to stare  _again_. Today he was wearing a soft, oatmeal colored henley with a v-neck that showed off a few pendants hanging from a silver chain around his neck, and his chest hair was more than a little distracting.

"I almost did," Emma finally said, managing a wry sort of half-smile when she realized she needed to say  _something_. She slid into the booth across from him, but opted to keep her coat on for the time being though she slid her hands out of her gloves and tucked them into her coat pockets.

"Understandable," he said with a sympathetic tilt of his head as he looked at her. "I'm glad you didn't, though."

Emma's lashes fluttered when he smiled at her, and she started to say something more, to ask  _why_ , but the waitress picked that moment to show up to take their orders. He ordered a full breakfast, eggs, bacon, pancakes, coffee, the works, and Emma couldn't help but wonder where he put it all.

"Just coffee," Emma told the waitress when it was her turn. She was starving, but she was sure if she tried to eat anything, she might throw up. The waitress left and Emma looked back at him, opening her mouth to start asking questions.

He held up his hand. "Let ... let me go first," he said, looking at her with that earnest expression that for some reason, she really couldn't deny. "I didn't expect to ever be having this conversation," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck again. Emma realized that that was nervous gesture of his, and it was just  _so damn cute_. "Most people who get flowers ... they don't ask questions."

"Most people get a card with the flowers," Emma pointed out dryly, and he met her look with one of his own.

"Point taken." He smiled at her, and she couldn't help but shake her head, a little wave of amusement creeping up on her. "It was meant to be one of those random things that just ... makes a person happy," he went on then. "It seemed like a better idea at the time."

"Why did you think I needed to be made happy?" Every time he started talking, to give her "answers", she only ended up with more questions.

"Because you seemed sad. The kinda sad that goes all the way to your soul, that kind of sad," he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest explanation in the world. "And I  _know_  that kind of sad."

Emma's brow furrowed. The waitress brought their coffee then, and Emma took a sip of hers, noting with amusement that he had to doctor his with plenty of cream and sugar first. "I've never  _met_  you. How the hell would you know if I'm sad or not?"

"I've seen you," he admitted, and Emma was fairly certain there as a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks then. "Every morning, you walk by the shop, round about eight or so. You never look up, never look around, never talk to the people nearby. Your head's down, you just want to get to wherever you're going and avoid any of the messy emotional business that goes along with  _living_." He took a drink from his own mug, and she opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head, setting his cup down. "I'm not judging you, Emma, I notice because I do it too."

She blinked, swallowing thickly, lowering her gaze and reaching for her own coffee. She didn't know what to say. He was right. He was absolutely, unequivocally right. She did all of those things, she could deny it all she wanted, but it didn't change the facts. That's how she lived her life, only a select few really knew her and even then ... even they didn't really  _know_  her. "So the flowers?" she finally managed, her voice softer.

"After the shop closes at night, I like to go on walks," he said. "Usually just around the block, sometimes further, it really makes no matter." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's something I do, and I, like you, tend to get lost in my own thoughts and my own little world while I'm walking.

"Your light was on the other night, and normally, that whole building is pretty much dark by the time I'm out walking. It caught my attention, and I looked up - I never look up, but that night, I did. And I saw you, standing by your window. Crying. Like I said, lass, I'd seen you before, but you were always so stoic and unemotional. I couldn't help but be stirred."

Emma looked up at him then. That had been the night she'd gotten the call about Ingrid. She'd been up all night that night, pacing the floor of her apartment, looking out her window, staring at nothing, and yes,  _crying_. All night. And he'd been there ... not  _there_  obviously, but ... he'd seen her at a moment that she would never have allowed anyone to be part of, because he was right. She didn't let people see her when she was emotional. She didn't want anyone to be part of her pain.

And yet he  _was_  part of it.

The waitress brought his food out then, and Emma just regarded him solemnly as he tucked into his breakfast, as if this were just another day for him. "So the flowers?" she prompted,  _again_ , curling her hands around her coffee cup.

"Flowers make people happy," he said, shrugging and taking another drink of his own coffee. "I went back to the shop and I got to work. I realized, of course, after it was done, that I didn't know anything about you, more's the pity for me." He flashed her another grin, and she  _almost_  smiled back then. He was very charming, though she wasn't about to admit that out loud. "I almost just gave up the whole idea, then and there, but I couldn't. It just seemed ... like it needed to be done." He shook his head, watching her closely. "I followed you to work the next morning and found out your name."

Her breath caught at that. "You ... followed me to work," she said slowly, and she wasn't sure if now was the time to run. Her fingers brushed the edge of the knife sitting in front of her on the table, her eyes never leaving his face. "Do you know how that makes you sound?"

"Like a madman, I'm sure, but ... it was supposed to stop, at the flowers. You were supposed to take them, have a somewhat nicer day because of them, and carry on with your life and I with mine." He sighed heavily, giving her a look that was half-exasperated, half-amused. "But you ... you had to go and question it."

"How can you blame someone for questioning that?" Emma asked him, her eyes searching his face, trying to understand. Maybe she should have left already, maybe all of this was a  _bad idea_  ... but she didn't feel in danger here, and the more she knew about this man, the more she  _wanted_  to know. "Most people who give flowers to someone to cheer them up don't drive them so crazy wondering  _who_  sent them that they can't even _enjoy_  the stupid things to begin with."

"I understand, how it looks from your side, believe me, I do," he said, leaning forward a little. "And maybe it was one of my more ill-conceived ideas, which would be saying something, because I've had many of those."

"So you just ... made this beautiful and expensive arrangement of flowers for someone you'd never even met? Just to ... just to make my  _day_  better?" She really couldn't understand it. No one she'd ever met had just done things like that ... with no ulterior motive, no grand design, but simply because they didn't want to see  _her_  hurting.

"You sound surprised," he said, his brow creased as he watched her.

"Because I am," she said, half-laughing then. "People don't just ... people don't just  _do_  things for no reason."

"Well, I wouldn't say I did it for no reason," he said with what could only be described as a  _cheeky_  smirk then. "I mean, I did get breakfast with the beautiful lady who wouldn't even take off her coat and is pointing a knife at me." Emma followed his gaze and found that her fingertips _had_  fully closed around the grip of the knife at some point. "Gotta say I think I came out on top here."

She laughed then, shaking her head and releasing her hold of the utensil. Somehow she felt a little ... lighter. He was so  _strange_  and yet ... maybe that was just what her life needed. "Sorry, I mean ... "

"I'm a man who follows beautiful women to work in order to send them flowers, I understand. One can never be too careful." He winked at her then, chuckling. She rolled her eyes.

"You know, they say Ted Bundy was charming, too," she pointed out dryly.

"Oh, you think I'm  _charming_ , do you?" he asked her teasingly then, which completely missed the point of what she was saying - but at the same time, it made her feel  _better_.

"Infer what you like," she retorted, giving him a look, though she knew her cheeks must be bright red.

"No inferring needed, love, you  _said_  it."

"I compared you to Ted Bundy!"

"Only because I'm  _charming_ ," he reminded her, still grinning teasingly. "I'm much handsomer than that lout, oh, and one important distinction, I don't kill women for sport. Or at all, come to that. They're so much more useful when they're alive, don't you think?"

"So I've heard," Emma told him, not sure what to make of his macabre sense of humor. He just ... wasn't like anyone else she'd ever met. "I should really get going," she said after a moment, and she didn't know why the idea made her a little sad.

"It is about that time, I suppose," he said, finishing off the rest of his breakfast. Emma set a couple of bills on the table for her coffee, before standing up. He stood up with her, setting money down for his own food before pulling on his coat once more. "I suppose you have very important work to get to, after all," he said, and Emma found that he was standing near enough that she had to look up to look at his eyes.

"Not that important. Just research for a few cases ... " She trailed off when she noted the way his eyes had lit up then. "Why?"

"Why don't you call in sick, and spend the rest of the day with me?"

Emma gave him an incredulous look. "And why the hell would I do that?" she asked him, completely confused now.

He smirked down at her. "To get the answers to the rest of your questions," he said lowly, backing away from her then with an inviting grin still on his lips.

She swallowed hard. She hadn't been aware she'd  _had_  other questions ... until right this very moment, anyway, when her mind was suddenly filling with a million and ten "what if" scenarios.

Son of a bitch.

Four seconds was not much of a headstart to give him and maintain her sense of dignity, but curiosity won, and she followed him out of the diner.

She really did want to know ... whatever it was that came next.


	3. The Scariest Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this is a fluff piece. But with these two characters, even the fluff has a little bit of angst. Enjoy some backstory, and my favorite chapter of the fic thus far. Thank you all for reading and leaving your comments and kudos, it really means SO much to me.

**Chapter Three**   
_**The Scariest Part** _

Of all possible outcomes to following him out of the diner that Emma could have imagined, ending up in the passenger side of the floral delivery truck was pretty close to the bottom of the list. But that's exactly where she found herself, watching him from the corner of her eyes, trying not to let her gaze linger on his hands or his profile for too long.

"So now that you've lured me into your van," she said dryly, "think you could maybe tell me your  _name_?"

He flashed her that grin -  _that_  grin - and Emma had to look away, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered in her chest. "Killian," he said.

 _Killian_  ... it suited him. She liked it. "Well, at least now I know what to tell the cops," she joked, and he rolled his eyes.

"You're the one who followed me out here, lass," he pointed out.

"You promised me answers," Emma replied, folding her hands primly in her lap as she looked at him. "Though I don't know what the questions are." He pursed his lips and widened his eyes at her dramatically, and she blew out a breath to keep from laughing, turning to look out the window. A gentle snow was falling, giving the city scape a sort of frosted wonderland kind of look. Like one of those snow globes, she thought, somewhat fancifully. "Why exactly  _am_  I in your van?" she asked after a moment.

"I've got some deliveries to make this morning," Killian said, shifting gears, and Emma found herself watching his hands again. She was fixating on the small details, and that was  _never_  a good sign. According to Anna - love expert that she was, anyway - fixation on small details was a definite sign of interest. And it was sort of hard to deny that she  _was_  interested, no matter what she tried to tell herself.

"I blew off work to be a delivery girl?" Emma asked him, arching a brow.

"Seems to me you could stand to blow off work every now and again."

The next few hours were unlike anything Emma had ever experienced before. She found herself a little fascinated by the whole process, in spite of her best efforts to remain detached - the way she was with everything in her life. It just ... wasn't possible to be that way with Killian. He took a great amount of pride in his work, that much was obvious, and he almost seemed to light up a bit, with every delivery they made. In between, on the drives to the next stops, he told her stories about some of his more memorable ones, and soon, she was laughing, and genuinely enjoying herself, sharing a few stories of her own about some of her cases when she had been a bailbonds person.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so at ease with someone, the last time she'd genuinely enjoyed someone's company like this ... all her earlier misgivings about Killian were gone, replaced instead by this hopeful sort of feeling in her chest that might actually be  _happiness_.

"There's something about all this," Emma said, after one of the last deliveries on their route. "I can totally see why someone would choose this job."

He smiled at her a little then, as though hearing her say that meant the world to him. "There's something about the look on a person's face, when they receive flowers," he said with a shrug. "Yours was ... something else. Perplexed and bemused. Beautiful in your confusion."

Emma felt her cheeks reddening at his words, and she looked back out the window, not wanting him to see the smile on her lips.

Once the last of the morning's deliveries was made, he pulled up to a small cafe, putting the truck into park. Before she could even open her door, he had come around the truck and was offering her his hand to help her down. Not that she wasn't capable of it, herself, but she wasn't really about to complain. He'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman all morning.

Even through her gloves, she swore she could feel the hum of something passing between them as she took his hand.

Once they were inside the cafe, their drinks in front of them - he'd given her no small amount of grief for her order of hot cocoa with cinnamon. "Are you twelve?" he'd teased her - Emma found that she was at a loss. It had been easy in the truck, him taking the lead, talking about the deliveries they made, or humming along with the radio, her looking out over the streets as they had gone to parts of the city she'd never even  _seen_  before. But now ... now it was just them, and there was nothing to distract their attention.

"So ... how did someone like you end up as a florist?" she asked, blowing lightly on her cocoa before taking a sip. "Have you always been?"

Killian gave a little laugh at that. "Not even a little bit," he said, bringing his own mug to his lips. "I was in the Royal Navy up until about eight years ago. But I guess it was always in my blood. Mum was a great lover of these things. Her garden was ... " He trailed off, as though he were mentally shaking himself from some reverie. "It's one of the few things I remember clearly about her. She died when I was quite young."

Emma's brow creased. "What happened?" Maybe she shouldn't pry, but she was interested.

He shrugged at little. "Got sick. My brother, Liam, he was a fair bit older than me, and he ended up as my guardian. He did the best he could, but he was not much more than a lad himself." The tic in his jaw let Emma know that he was holding back a lot of emotion on the subject, so she didn't push.

He looked back at her again, smiling a little sadly. "He was the one who inherited Mum's gift for it all, truly. Once I turned eighteen, I joined the Navy. I wanted to see the world - mostly, I just wanted  _out_. Liam met this girl - an American lass, as it were. He moved over here and opened the shop."

Emma tilted her head at that, her cocoa halfway to her lips. "The shop?" she asked.

"Jones Floral and Arrangements," Killian said, almost sheepishly. "It was Liam's baby, really. He and his wife put everything they had into it. After the accident ... I couldn't let it be for nothing."

"You're Killian - Jones? You  _own_  the shop?" Emma asked, a little bit confused by this turn of events. He seemed to be full of surprises.

"I inherited the shop after my brother died, yes," Killian said. "At first I didn't think I wanted it, I thought about selling it ... but it's a family legacy, in a way. My mum would have wanted it to continue - and I owed it to Liam."

"But you  _deliver_  flowers," Emma said, still not quite understanding.

"If you can't take pride in your own work, what's the point of doing it?" Killian asked. "That's what Liam always said. If you weren't willing to stand behind what you'd done, then why bother at all." He chuckled wryly. "That's part of the reason, anyway."

"What's the other part?" Emma asked, leaning forward a little.

She didn't think she was imagining things when she saw a faint blush creep up onto his cheeks. "Mum ... she always used to put together these beautiful arrangements for friends or people in town - and she'd always take them herself. Said she wanted to see the look on their faces when she brought them to them." He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck again.

Emma felt a pang, somewhere deep in her chest for him, and she reached out, her hand coming to rest over his across the table. "That's really ... " she began, looking for the right word.

"Daft?" Killian supplied with a little self-deprecating laugh, his gaze dropping to where their hands touched.

"I was going to say  _sweet_ , actually," Emma told him quietly, making a face, "but we can go with your word if you like."

He smiled at that, moving his hand a little so that his fingers laced with hers ... and Emma didn't stop him. She should have - with anyone else, in the past, this was exactly the sort of thing that would have her making excuses to be somewhere else.

"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" he asked her then, almost as though he were reading her thoughts.

"No," she found herself saying.

"Good. Because there's something else I'd like to show you."

Emma didn't really know what to expect - this morning had been anything but ordinary for her. So when he led her to a small area, not too far from the cafe, she wasn't sure what to think. The snow that still fell had blanketed the area, giving it an almost magical sort of appearance. The only thing that really stood out about it, that she could see, was the half-finished gazebo.

"It doesn't look like much now, but ..." He cleared his throat. "It's something Liam started, before his accident, sort of a beautification project for the city. It's meant to be a replica of our mother's garden. Or it will be. When it's finished. He didn't get a chance to ... to complete it, and I ... hadn't the heart to do anything with it. But now I think I might just."

A smile crept up onto Emma's lips then. "I think that's a really wonderful idea," she said softly, afraid to speak too loudly ... this place sort of felt sacred, and she was touched that he was showing her. "Why are you showing me this?"

He shook his head, blowing out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "You're the first person not directly tied to the shop that I've ever really talked to about any of this," he told her. "It just seemed ... right that you should see it."

Emma looked at him, snowflakes in his hair, the tip of his nose pink from the cold. His hands were stuffed in his coat pockets then, but she could remember how it felt when he'd laced their fingers together. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Today has ... not been what I was expecting at all when you knocked on my door this morning," she said with a light chuckle.

"Why? Because you thought you might end up dead in an alleyway at the hands of a devilishly handsome scoundrel?" He arched a brow at her, that flirting lilt returning to his voice.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Basically," she said, nodding her head, and he laughed - the kind of laugh that you usually only saw little kids do, that full-bodied, head thrown back kind.

God, she was so screwed.

Shaking her head, she looked back at the little area that would be a garden soon. "So what are you going to plant here?" she asked.

"Everything," he said with an easy shrug, taking a step closer, til they were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at the space. Emma was acutely aware of where they touched, even through the layers they wore. "What's your favorite flower?" he asked her.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I've always kinda had a thing for roses," she admitted. "I guess that's boring, but ... sentimental value and all." She bit her bottom lip, thinking. "Though there's this ... I think they're lilies, but I'm not sure. They're big and kind of pink and white and they're just so ... "

"Stargazer lilies," he interjected, and he smiled at her appreciatively. "That seems about right."

"Right, that's it," she said, nodding, looking back at him. "There's just something about them ... " Her eyes held his for a beat too long, and she could feel her heart in her throat. He turned to face her, his hand smoothing down her upper arm gently.

"Aye," he agreed softly. "There is."

Her gaze dropped to his lips then, and the pull she felt for him was so  _strong_ , it was almost overwhelming. She couldn't remember a time she'd ever been so drawn to someone. His blue eyes were searching her face, his own gaze lingering on her lips for so long she swore she could  _feel_  them tingling already. His hand was still on her arm ... all she needed to do was lean in just a little bit ...

Her phone rang the second she started to, and she all but  _jumped_  backward, laughing nervously as she looked at him. "Goddamnit," she hissed out, shaking her head, closing her eyes as she tried to even out the rapid beating of her heart. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit "ignore" without even looking at who it was. "Sorry," she said then, looking back at him.

He smiled at her invitingly, leaning closer once more. "No worries, love," he said, his voice lower now, silky and dark, and it made her  _ache_. "Where were we?"

But the impulsivity of the moment had passed, and now Emma was starting to  _question her sanity_. She'd only met him, technically, today. And yeah, they'd had a nice day but ... she didn't really have  _time_  for these kinds of ... entanglements.

Though being tangled with him ...

 _Fuck_.

"I, um ... " she began, wincing apologetically. "I should probably get going ... "

"Right," he said, straightening himself back up, eyes flicking over her face. She could see a flash of sadness there - hurt, maybe, and she felt pretty fucking awful. "I don't want to keep you."

"Thank you," she said, looking down, feeling foolish and stupid and like the biggest idiot in the world. "Thanks again, I mean, for the flowers and for ... for today."

"Have dinner with me," he said then, abruptly, and Emma blinked. "Not right  _now_ , but ... you have my number," he amended, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek, then dropping as though he thought better of it. "I'd like to see you again, Emma."

She looked at him for several long moments, her heart flipping in her chest, her stomach doing sommersaults. There was nothing she wanted  _more_ , and it  _terrified_  her. "Yeah ... I ... I ... maybe," she stammered out stupidly, before she turned on her heel, quickly taking off down the street, wanting to put a  _lot_  of distance between the two of them before she could change her mind.

_oXo_

"Emma.  _Emma_!"

Elsa flipped the switch on the garbage disposal that Emma had been running - it was so loud that she hadn't even heard her friend enter her apartment, and she'd been far too busy doing some serious damage to a floral arrangement.

She was a  _fucking idiot_. And she didn't need reminders of that fact.

"What the  _hell_  are you doing?" Elsa asked, grabbing what was left of the orchids out of Emma's grasp, her blue eyes wide and ... frankly, a little terrified-looking. Not that Emma could really  _blame_  her.

She  _was_  grinding up perfectly beautiful orchids in the garbage disposal, after all.

Emma pushed past Elsa and made her way to the living room, dropping onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Elsa moved into the room slowly, keeping the orchids  _well_ out of Emma's reach. "Explain please."

"I, uh ... " Emma shook her head, looking at her best friend. "Anna's not here is she?" she asked. The last thing she needed was the hopelessly romantic Arendelle catching wind of  _any_  of this.

"No, Anna's with Kristoff tonight. What the hell is going on here, Emma?"

"I found out who sent the flowers," Emma said in a rush.

Elsa moved to sit beside her. "And he's terrible? A cretin? A jerk? Oh, God, was it that creepy guy from the mail room at your office?" She shuddered, and Emma couldn't help but laugh a little.

"No ... nothing like that." Emma sighed. "He's ... kind of great, actually."

Elsa arched a brow at her, looking back at the partially mutilated orchids.

"He's funny and he's  _sweet_  and he's handsome and he's ... "

"I can see your predicament," Elsa said dryly. "Sounds like a nightmare, really. My condolences that your secret admirer turned out to be a gorgeous, sweet, funny guy." She smacked Emma on the arm then. " _Emma_. What the  _fuck_?"

Emma looked at her a little helplessly. "I just ... I don't know. We ... we spent the day together and it was just  _so nice_  I ... "

"You spent the day with him?" Elsa asked, brows raising. "And it was  _nice_? And this is a terrible thing because ... ?"

"Because when has an actual, honest-to-God  _nice_  guy ever wanted anything to do with me?" Emma asked.

"Honey, they're not all jerks," Elsa told her, her expression softening.

"The ones who like  _me_  are," Emma muttered darkly.

"Emma, you haven't  _really_  put yourself out there since Neal," Elsa said. "And it's not that anyone could blame you, but believe me, most guys break up with a girl  _without_  sending her to prison." She reached out, squeezing Emma's shoulder lightly. "I know full well that you have no desire to be alone for the rest of your life. But you can't keep pushing everyone who  _might_  be good to you away."

"I just ... what if he's just like everyone else?" Emma asked, her features crumpling a little.

"What if he's  _not_?"

Emma remembered standing out there in the snow with Killian, the way he'd looked at her right before she'd almost kissed him, her heart fluttering again at the memory. She sighed. "I don't know," she said uncertainly.

"You're  _destroying_  flowers, Emma," Elsa said pointedly. "You must  _really_  have feelings tied to this guy, or you wouldn't be reacting so viscerally. And when's the last time  _that's_  happened? Don't you owe it to yourself?"

There was a knock at the door then, and Emma looked up, a little wild-eyed. Surely he wouldn't ... "Elsa," she hissed out.

Elsa rolled her eyes and stood up. "I got it, I got it, calm down. Besides, I kinda wanna see what Mr. Right looks like." She grinned at Emma, who just glowered.

Elsa came back a few minutes later, holding a long white box. A florist's box.

"Oh, God," Emma said, standing up. "Was it ... "

"Unless he's about sixteen and speaks predominantly Spanish, I'm gonna say  _no_ , it wasn't Mr. Perfect," Elsa told her. "And I'm not sure I should let you have these. We've seen what you do to them." She turned the box around so Emma could see the contents.

Stargazer lilies.

Emma felt the backs of her eyes burning with unshed tears. Persistent bastard, wasn't he?

But when was the last time anyone had ever let her know just  _how much_  they thought about her?

"Is there a card, at least?"

Elsa looked in the box and handed Emma the small white envelope.

" _Because there's just something about them. Thank you for a lovely day. -K"_

Emma groaned audibly, handing Elsa the card to read for herself. There  _had_  to be something wrong with him. No guy was  _this_  good. It just ... wasn't possible.

Especially not for her.

"Marry him," Elsa said after reading it. "Just ... forget about it, Emma,  _marry_  this guy."

Emma laughed in spite of herself, chewing on her bottom lip as her fingertips brushed over the embossed gold lettering on the card, where the phone number to the shop was. She moved over to the end table where she'd sat her cell down, and dialed the number, only to be informed that Killian had already gone home for the night.

Of course he had.

"He's not there," Emma told Elsa after she hung up, moving into the kitchen to get a vase for the lilies, which Elsa only handed over after she  _promised_  she wasn't going to destroy them.

"Aha!" Elsa said, eyes widening as she grinned. "You're  _disappointed_."

"Well ... yeah, I mean I ... " Emma sighed, filling the vase with water. "I didn't really leave things the way I wanted to with him, and then the flowers and I ... Yeah. I'm disappointed," she finally admitted.

Elsa rolled her eyes. "What I'm about to suggest isn't the most ethical thing," she said, leaning forward, "but then, from what you've told me, this whole thing started out a little bit questionably."

"What?" Emma asked warily. The look on Elsa's face now was eerily close to the look Anna got when she was hatching some crazy scheme.

"Find out where he lives. You used to do that sort of thing for a living, don't tell me you don't know  _how_."

_oXo_

It took her nearly a week to work up the courage. A week of hemming and hawing, going back and forth in her mind, and with Elsa, about why this was a  _terrible_  idea.

A week of stargazer lilies showing up nightly at her door.

A week of dreams about his blue eyes and what  _might_  have happened if she hadn't run off.

The address she'd given the cab driver was unfamiliar to her, and he'd looked at her as though she were slightly insane when she'd told him where she wanted to go. But there was only  _one_  listing for a Killian Jones anywhere in the area when she'd searched, so it  _had_  to be him.

It was nearly eleven at night. They'd been driving for nearly an hour, the taxi's meter was well over fifty bucks, and it was almost to the point where Emma was starting to think maybe she was about to end up a statistic. Paralegal killed by crazed cabbie in the woods.

But then she saw it ... a farmhouse coming into view, just a little further down the road. It was old, not in the best repair. Two stories, and surrounded by several acres of land. She could see what looked like a greenhouse behind the house ... and she knew this had to be the right place.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might crack through her ribcage, and she was vaguely contemplating killing her best friend for this idea. She could have really blown it earlier, after all. He might not  _want_  to see her, after the way she'd taken off.

"You want me wait?" the cabbie asked in a heavily accented voice as he pulled into the driveway.

"No, thank you." Emma shook her head, handing him her fare and a generous tip for having gone so far out of his way. Her eyes were glued on the house, on the light in one of the upper windows. He was up there,  _in_  there. And whatever she did or didn't do now ... well, it would determine the whole course of how this thing would go.

She stepped out of the cab, shutting the door and making her way onto the old wooden porch. There were chairs out here - covered with snow at present, but she could envision sitting out here, looking out over the land on a gorgeous spring or summer day ... it was nice, in her mind.

She looked back over her shoulder, the cab already halfway down the road that had brought her here. She pretty much had one option here. Her hand raised to knock on the door, but it opened before she could.

"Emma?"

The storm door stood closed between them, but Emma could still see him clearly. His hair was wet, and he was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and pulling a white t-shirt over his head as he answered. The sight of him like this was  _staggering_  and her throat went dry.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Payback?" Emma said, a hopeful little smile on her face as she attempted to make a joke - he'd followed her and well, now she'd pretty much done the same to him.

He arched a brow at her, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. She just watched him for a moment. "Thank you for the lilies," she said softly. "I'm running out of places to put them, but ... they're beautiful." She smiled a little. "You're pretty persistent, huh?"

"Maybe I just know what I want," he told her, his voice taking on that low tone that  _did things_  to her. "What about you, Emma? Do you know what  _you_  want? Have you figured it out?"

"I'd like to have dinner with you," Emma told him then. "If you still want to, I mean."

He pushed open the storm door then, stepping out onto the porch. He was barefoot. Emma swallowed thickly, looking up at him. He was very near her now, near enough that she could smell the soap-and-water-and-man scent of him, near enough that it was making her a little dizzy. He smiled at her crookedly, his eyes lighting up in a way that made the whole world seem to glow.

"You could have just  _called_  you know," he said lowly, an amused little smirk on his lips as his eyes searched her face.

"I could've," Emma agreed, her tongue darting out over her bottom lip as she looked at him. "But if I'd called, I wouldn't have been able to do this." She reached for him then, fingers curling in the front of his t-shirt, her lips crashing against his.


	4. Still Your Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and follows you've given this story so far. I am SO GLAD this little bit of fluff is making everyone else happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter and what it's building up to. And I am not even going to KIND OF apologize for using one of the oldest tropes in the books here. ;)

**Chapter Four**   
_**Still Your Mind** _

Killian hesitated for a breath, a heartbeat, and in that split second, Emma was afraid she'd made a mistake. But then he  _inhaled_ , and it was as though he were trying to consume her. His hands cupped either side of her face, his lips slanting over hers eagerly. He took complete control of the kiss, and Emma was only too happy to let him.

Because  _damn_. The boy could kiss.

One of her hands slid up to the back of his neck, fingers finding their way to the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in until it was as though they were  _breathing_  the same breath.

He groaned out her name, his lips trailing away from hers then, down along her jawline. She sucked in a breath, her lashes fluttering as she tilted her head back for him. She'd never, in her wildest dreams, imagined that just  _kissing_  him would feel like this.

She'd never imagined that kissing  _anyone_  could feel this way. It never  _had_  before.

"Come inside?" he was breathing out against her ear, making her shiver in the most  _amazing_  way.

She pulled back, looking at him, feeling more than a little dazed. Biting her lip, she nodded with a smile. "Yeah, okay," she said quietly.

He gave her that grin, the one that made her whole body feel like it was turning to liquid, and he slid his hand down her arm, until his fingers were laced with hers, pulling her inside. "Have you lived here long?" Emma asked him, looking around as they stepped inside and he shut the door behind them.

"Awhile," he said, giving her a wicked smirk then, and before she knew it, he had her pushed back against the door, his mouth descending on hers once again. "You want a tour?" he breathed out, lips tracing down her throat then, his fingers tugging at the zipper of her coat.

"Maybe later," she returned, shrugging her coat off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, before she gave herself over to the way it felt to have his lips on her skin.

She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle against her throat, and she pulled back as much as she could, with the door at her back and  _all of him_  pressed against her front in a way that was making it hard for her to think about anything else.

"What's so funny?" she asked him, arching a brow.

He shook his head, his hair still a little damp, his stubble tickling her skin. "Nothing's funny, lass," he told her, raising his head to look at her, his blue eyes earnest and serious when they met hers. "Just waiting til I inevitably wake up."

Emma felt the corners of her lips twitching upward. "Oh?" she asked.

"I can't say I haven't thought about ... any of this ... in the past week," he told her, looking down in that adorable, sheepish way he had. "But I didn't think ... "

Emma's brow creased. "I shouldn't have waited," she told him. "I was ... I don't know. An idiot, I guess." She laughed a little, shaking her head. "It's just that ... that day. It was one of the nicest days I've had in as long as I can remember." She looked down. "I guess I got scared. I'm not used to nice days."

He looked at her, his smile genuine and warm, his eyes lighting up, before he leaned in and caught her lips again. "That's a bloody shame, darling," he told her. He pulled back, taking her by the hand again and leading her further into the house. "Perhaps I can fix that."

Emma tilted her head, looking at him with a soft smile, looking around the living room that he'd led her into. It was sparsely decorated. It reminded her a lot of her own apartment in that sense. She didn't want to pry, as curious as she was about him ... she didn't want to ruin whatever this moment was.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked her then, and she nodded.

"Sure. Whatever you've got is fine."

They were in the kitchen then, and instead of reaching for a beer or some other sort of liquor, like she'd expected, he put a tea kettle on the stove. Her brow creased. He never did  _anything_  she expected him to. "Tea?" he asked her. "Or would you prefer hot cocoa?" He couldn't resist the teasing look he gave her then.

She rolled her eyes. "You ever going to let that go? So what, I like hot cocoa? And if you've got some, that would be great, actually." She laughed a little, moving to lean against the counter near the stove. "I'm sorry for showing up so late ... I didn't realize you lived so far outside the city. You must have to get up  _really_  early every day."

He shrugged, not looking at her as he filled the kettle with water and moved over to the stove. "I don't sleep much, anyway," he said, and she could see the way his brow furrowed. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was afraid to ... overstep. He looked back at her then, after he'd turned the burner on, the blue flame barely licking the bottom of the kettle. "I'm glad you're here," he told her seriously, moving to stand in front of her. "I was afraid I might have blown it with you."

She smiled a small, wistful smile. "No," she whispered, shaking her head, her hand moving to the side of his cheek. "You didn't."

"Good." He licked his lips then, his eyes drifting between her eyes and her lips, before he leaned in and kissed her again, his hands coming to rest at her hips.

Emma's hands moved to his chest, her eyelids falling shut as she gave herself to the moment once more. They stood there like that, lips pressed against lips, mouths slanting hungrily, tongues exploring, his hands roaming along her sides, hers curled in the front of his shirt, until the tea kettle whistled, and even then, they were slow to separate, lips lingering and soft little moans passing their lips.

She didn't think she'd ever kissed someone who was  _just_  content to kiss her, who didn't immediately press her for more. And kissing him ... it was a whole other world for her. It made her  _feel_  things she hadn't felt before - not even when she'd been young and stupidly thought she was in love with Neal.

Her fingers brushed over her lips when he pulled back, as she watched him pour water into two mugs. He handed her a little packet of powdered hot cocoa mix, scratching the back of his neck adorably. "My apologies, lass, I don't have anything fancier."

Emma smiled at him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "This is fine," she said, tearing open the package and pouring it into the water. "I drink this at home."

Once their drinks were made, they moved back into the living room, sitting on the couch. He slung his arm over the back of the sofa (around  _her_ ) and Emma was suddenly acutely aware of how  _nervous_  she was about this. She hadn't really planned any of this out. She'd worked up the courage to come here, without really thinking about what it all meant, in reality.

"So ... you said you've lived here awhile?" she asked, blowing on her cocoa before taking a sip. She had one leg curled up underneath her and she was turned so that she was facing him.

"Aye," he agreed, bringing his own tea to his lips. "It was Liam's home, and I inherited it along with the shop."

Emma looked down, nodding. "I see. So you've lived here alone, all this time?"

He smiled sadly, but said nothing. Emma's brow furrowed, but she opted, again, not to push. She figured whatever it was he was keeping quiet about, he must have his reasons for it. Maybe someday he'd trust her enough to tell her.

"And you?" he asked her, nudging her leg with his bare foot then, making her smile. "Have you always lived in the city?"

She shook her head, looking down into her cup. "No. Just in the last few years. I was in Boston before this and ... um, Tallahassee, before that." She didn't feel the need to mention anything before Florida. Like him, she had her own secrets, and she wasn't sure she was ready to divulge them yet. She always feared that people would look at her differently when they found out the truth.

She didn't want that to happen with him.

"Get tired of all that sunshine, did you?" he said lightly, gently teasing her, eyebrow arched over the rim of his mug.

"There just wasn't anything there for me," she said, leaning forward and setting her cocoa down on the coffee table in front of the couch, before turning back to look at him. She knew her eyes must be bright, she could feel the sting of tears behind them. All this time, and the betrayal still stung like it was yesterday. "I was there for two years and it just ... wasn't for me."

He mirrored her actions, setting his own cup down, and then moving closer to her. Without a word, he put his arms around her and pulled her in close, pressing his lips to her temple gently. "Did I mention I'm glad you're here?" he asked her, his voice soft and soothing, near her ear.

She smiled, feeling her heartbeat speed up in her chest as she turned her head, enough so that she could brush her lips over his again. His hand moved to cup her cheek, and he tilted his head, his mouth slanting over hers, gently beseeching. Her hand slid along the silver chain he wore around his neck, and she hooked her index finger behind the pendants there, pulling him closer. He moved as she did, and soon she was on her back beneath him on the couch, his weight gently pushing her against the cushions.

She sighed out against his lips, and he took the opening, his tongue sliding out to taste her lips once more. She shuddered as he slid one hand underneath her sweater, fingertips brushing over her stomach, goosebumps rising on her flesh where he touched.

His lips trailed down her throat once more, his tongue flicking out over her pulse. She gave a soft little cry, her hips bucking up to meet his, feeling  _him_  pressing against the juncture there between her thighs.

"God,  _Emma_ ," he breathed out lowly, brushing his lips along the curve of her jawline, before he pulled back. When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her with a light in his eyes that felt as though it were  _burning_  her, all the way through. He raised one of her hands to his lips, nipping playfully at her fingertips. "You've  _no idea_ how much I want you right now," he breathed out, brushing a stray bit of her hair off her brow.

"I think I can hazard a guess," Emma teased him, wiggling her hips a little as if to prove her point.

He groaned, low and throaty, his eyes falling shut. "Bloody minx," he hissed out lowly, kissing her again, more fiercely now, teeth scraping at her bottom lip. He pulled back, once again, his eyes still clenched shut. "I want to do this  _right_."

Emma didn't know what he meant. Like, in a bed? She looked at him, her heart pounding, chest heaving. Her eyes must have been dark with desire, and she knew her lips were red and swollen from his kisses. There was an ache between her thighs that was going to cause her no small amount of frustration.

He opened his eyes then, looking down at her. "You're gorgeous," he murmured, his lips pressing against hers again, and then again, more insistently each time. "I won't be just another lout who uses you, Emma."

Her brow furrowed. How could he possibly  _know_? "Killian?"

He moved to sit up then, pulling her with him, keeping his arms around her, his lips pressed against her hair as he breathed deep. "I want you ... far too much to make this something that we just  _do_  because you're here and we're both lonely." He sighed heavily. "I haven't wanted anyone, not like this, in far too long."

Emma swallowed thickly, not knowing how to respond to that. She wasn't used to men who didn't just ... take what they wanted and then left her, feeling lonelier than she'd been when she started.

He looked at her seriously. "I want you to be with me, because you want to be with  _me_."

"Killian ... I  _do_  want to ... "

He cut her off by kissing her again. "No, Emma. But you will."

Her brows went up as she leaned back, looking at him. She gave him a bemused little smile. "You don't have ... play the gentleman with me, Killian," she told him. "I am far beyond needing all of that."

He laughed, but it was mirthless, and he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "And that right there is exactly why I  _do_  have to. You're worth more than just some quick boff and then it's business as usual." He shook his head. "You're worth much more than that, darling, and I aim to prove it to you."

She felt her breath catch, the tears threatening again. She was completely lost to him, lost to the look in his eyes, to the way he made her feel like nobody ever had. Nobody had ever really bothered to get to know her. And she always thought that that was for the best. If they  _did_  ... they would only leave her, just like everyone else. "I'm really not," she told him quietly. "I don't know why you'd waste all this time and effort and all those beautiful flowers on  _me_."

"Your light was on," he told her gently, as if that made perfect sense. She looked at him quizzically. "The first night in a very long time that I looked  _up_ , that I broke myself out of my own little world, and my own problems, was the night I saw you. You bloody well may have saved my life, Emma Swan, now it's my turn to return the favor."

"Killian ... " Emma said, looking at him in almost utter disbelief. Surely this was a dream. Men like him weren't  _real_. "I really don't understand how someone like you is alone."

He smiled gently, brushing his thumb over the rise of her cheek. "I'm not alone now," he whispered before he leaned in and kissed her again.

It felt as though they spent the whole night, just like that, hands gently exploring, mouths eager and hungry as they moved together, bodies pressed close. Emma didn't even know if she'd  _ever_  just kissed someone for so long without it going further, no matter how much they both  _wanted_ it. But somehow that made it better. There was so much to look forward to, and if kissing him was an indicator of things to come ...

 _God_.

She didn't know at what point they  _stopped_  kissing, but when her eyes opened, she was stretched out on his sofa - alone - and there was a blanket covering her, and her boots were on the floor next to the couch. There was a thin, grey light streaming in through the windows.

She sat up, looking around, confused for a moment, until she heard the sound of dishes clanging and him moving around in the kitchen. He was humming as he worked, and Emma smiled as she leaned against the doorjamb, watching him. "Morning," she said softly.

He turned and flashed her a grin. "Good morning, love," he said, turning his attention back to the bacon he had frying in the pan. "I hope you're hungry ... I wasn't sure what you like, so I made a bit of everything."

Emma laughed a little, walking up behind him and kissing his shoulder. "Why'd you let me fall asleep?" she asked him, not accusingly.

"It was  _late_  and I'm an hour outside the city," he pointed out. "I had every intention of taking you back in when I went to work this morning, but ... " He laughed, gesturing his head toward the sliding glass doors that led out to his back yard - which was really more like ten acres of land.

"Holy shit," Emma said, eyes widening as she looked out over the scene.

Sometime after she'd arrived, the snow had started to fall, and now the whole world outside was white, the thick, heavy flakes still falling. She could barely see more than a few feet out past the door.

She turned back to look at him, arching a brow. "Did you have something to do with this?" she asked him with a wry grin.

"Oh, aye, I got in touch with the weather gods just so I could hold you hostage." He laughed, shaking his head as he turned back to his cooking.

Emma bit her lip, looking back outside, then back at Killian. "Does this happen a lot?"

"Once a year, maybe twice. The plows don't come out on these county roads, so until it lets up ... " He shrugged. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, sweetheart."  He smirked at her wickedly then.  "What should we do?"


	5. The Same Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a bit longer to get out -- I was sick with the flu all last week and not really feeling much like writing. Anyway, I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I like this one -- I consider this sort of the halfway point, but the way it's going, this could fic could end up being longer than I initially planned. Either way! I loved writing this, and I hope you all love it too.

**Chapter Five**   
_**The Same Mistakes** _

It wasn't until after breakfast was over, and the dishes were cleared away, washed and drying on the rack on the counter (because he didn't have a dishwasher - what year was this again?) that Emma started to feel nervous. Not because of  _him_ , not like that, but because the snow was still swirling outside, and there was truly nowhere for her to go.

She never did the morning after thing - all her past "relationships", after Neal, had been relegated to one-nighters, and she snuck out before the sun came up. And yet here she was, sitting in his kitchen at mid-morning, hoping she didn't look as out-of-place and uncomfortable as she felt. Nothing had even  _happened_  last night, aside from a  _lot_  of kissing but ... it had felt more real than any of those one-nighters ever had.

 _It had felt more real than whatever you had with Neal_ , that annoying little voice chimed again, but she pushed those thoughts away as she looked at him from her spot at the table. He was sipping another cup of coffee - he seriously seemed to exist on caffeine alone - and looking through some papers across the table from her.

"Isn't the purpose of a snow day  _not_  to work?" she asked him, though she was a fine one to talk. After she'd called in to work (and realized how spotty her cell service was going to be out here), and gotten through Ruby's peals of laughter when she explained that she was snowed-in at a "friend's", she had immediately started wishing she had her laptop. At least she could make a dent on some of her files that way, and not be  _wholly_  unproductive.

He flashed her a quick grin. "Actually, I was thinking of putting  _you_  to work with me," he said, and Emma's brows went up as she tried to keep her mind from spiraling places she  _knew better_  than to let it go.

But it was really hard when he looked like that and she knew how he kissed and she  _wanted_  him in ways she hadn't wanted anyone in a long time.

"How so?" she asked, keeping her tone cautious, wary.

"I've got a few custom orders to get done this week," he said, "and if you don't mind braving a few feet of blizzard to get to the greenhouse, we can work on those. It's perfectly warm inside, I assure you."

Emma blinked, once again, taken aback by him. He really  _wasn't_  using this opportunity as a means to his own end - well, aside from the fact that now he had a hostage to use as slave labor. He laughed heartily when she voiced that out loud to him, and Emma was again stunned momentarily speechless.

 _Neal never thought you were funny_ , chimed that little voice again, always there, no matter how hard she tried to drown it out. The looming specter of her past, casting a shadow over  _everything_  she did now.

But the sound of Killian's laughter now was sort of making it all hurt a little bit  _less_ , somehow.

"I'm sure we can work out some sort of ...  _compensation_  for your time," Killian was saying then, and Emma was brought back to the present by the almost  _lascivious_  tone in his voice and she arched a brow at him.

"Getting a lot of mixed messages from you, buddy," Emma told him, but her tone was amused as she looked at him, curling her own hands around her now-cooled cup of cocoa.

"Maybe that's the  _point_ , darling."

He stood up then, shuffling his papers a bit before leaving them, crossing over to where she sat and taking her face in his hands. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest as he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. There was nothing of the sweet, gentle kisses from the night before in this - this was hunger, need, a hint of things to come. His thumb presssed against her chin, tilting her head back as his tongue slipped past her lips.

Emma moaned softly against his lips, feeling her whole body respond to the way he kissed her then, parts within her that she'd thought long-since done with suddenly coming to life again. His fingers slipped from her cheeks, tangling in her blonde hair, a groan passing his lips as he all but devoured her and all she could do was  _let him_  because God, when was the last time  _anything_ had felt like this?

He pulled back before she was ready to let him, her fingers in the front of his shirt as she hauled him back to her, her lips and teeth and tongue doing their own assailing this time.

By the time they both pulled back, they were both panting, cheeks flushed. His pupils were dilated so that their beautiful blue was almost completely eclipsed by the dark desire there. He pressed his forehead against hers, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

"Never said I didn't want you, love," he told her, adding, almost inaudibly, "when it's  _right_."

She heard what he wasn't saying, the same thing she was thinking - he didn't want to mess this up. Not this time. Somehow, she could feel it in her bones - whatever hell she'd gone through in her past, he'd been there too. Did that explain this ... inexplicable connection they seemed to have, like some sort of invisibe cord attached to them both that had led them to be right here, right now?

"Feels pretty right to me," she said honestly, the words slipping from her mouth before she realized she was going to speak out loud.

He laughed, kissing her again, much more gently this time. "Don't  _tempt_  me, Emma."

She wasn't sure, but that sounded distinctly like a  _challenge_  to her ears. She grinned at him, before patting him on the chest and giving him a little push backward, enough so that she could stand up. "Got it," she told him, all wide-eyed and guileless, trying not to smirk when she noted the way he'd narrowed his eyes at her then. "You said something about flowers?"

He shook his head, smiling at her wryly, his hand on the small of her back as they walked out of the kitchen. She moved over to the sofa once more, sitting down to pull her boots back on, taking her coat from the back of the chair she'd draped it over the night before. He was still eyeing her out of the corner of his eyes, as if he half-expected her to pounce at any moment. From the way he licked his lips absently when he glanced her way, she could tell he was  _hoping_  as much as she was.

There was something kind of ... wonderful about it all, if she was being truthful. The build-up and the anticipation ... the way every look that passed between them seemed so heated, so full of promise of things yet to come. She'd never  _had_  that before, not with anyone.

Not even Neal. She'd been young and stupid, convinced that the only way to keep him would be to ... She shook her head at the memories, not wanting to go there, not now. In the end, it hadn't even been worth it, and she'd lost a lot more than she'd  _ever_  gotten from that "relationship".

"Here," Killian was saying then, holding out a pair of gloves and a stocking cap to her. "You didn't bring any, and you'll need them for the walk out there."

Emma smiled, taking them from him with a small nod of thanks as she slid the gloves on. "They're a little big." She made a face, pulling the knitted hat on over her head.

"Sorry, I don't keep spare gloves around for the random crazy lass who finds her way all the way out here," he retorted dryly, smiling as he walked to her, helping her straighten the hat on her head. His fingers brushed over the rise of her cheek, his gaze dropping to her lips once more. Emma bit her lip in anticipation, her eyes wide as she looked up at him again.

He cleared his throat instead of leaning in, tapping the tip of her nose with a cheeky grin. Oooh, he  _knew_  what he was doing, didn't he?  _Bastard_.

"That hat is quite adorable on you," he told her, before stepping back, pulling on his own coat and leading them to the back door. "You sure you're okay going out in this?" he asked her, hand stilling on the doorknob. The sound of the wind whistling outside the door was a little alarming - this was as bad a storm as they'd had around here in the past few years.

"If you can do it, I can," Emma retorted, and he rolled his eyes.

"Says the lass who lives in the city where they  _plow_ everything. I'm warning you, it's only a few hundred meters from the house to the greenhouse, but it'll feel like a kilometer in this."

Emma made a face at him, wanting to tease him about his use of the metric system in America, but she was quickly silenced from making any smartass remarks when he opened the door. The snow had to have been falling since sometime the previous night, because it was well over her ankles as she stepped out into it. "How do you  _live_  like this?" she shouted at him over the sound of the wind, squinting to see him through the swirling flakes.

He laughed, reaching for her hand and pulling her along. "Do you want to go back in the house?" And she swore it sounded like he was  _taunting_  her, the little city slicker.

Oh  _hell_  no.

"No, thank you," she told him smartly, and she could see him shaking his head in amusement.  _Bastard_.

It seemed like it took them an  _hour_  to get to the door of the greenhouse, but Killian assured her it had only been about five minutes. She was frozen through, that much she was sure of, and she tried rocking on the balls of her feet to stay warm as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket to unlock the door. The snow made it a little difficult, so she ended up sort of just bouncing in place, much to his amusement.

He pushed open the door and ushered her inside. "Quickly, can't let too much of this cold air inside."

She hurried inside and nearly lost her breath. The heat and humidity inside was tangible - thick and wet and heavy. She immediately peeled off her snow covered gloves and the hat, shaking out her hair and shrugging out of her coat, which Killian took from her, hanging it alongside his on one of the hooks at the back wall of the first room.

The light inside was bright - a mimickry of sunlight, and as believable as Emma had ever seen it. And the flowers - Emma had never seen so many, all in one place like this. Killian explained how different parts of the greenhouse were kept at different temperature levels and moisture levels, in order to grow all manner of plants inside.

Emma was used to seeing greenhouses, all one big room with this that and everything else all growing side-by-side. She'd never seen one split up into different rooms like this one was. "Do you grow all the flowers you sell in your shop, then?" she asked him, her fingers lightly brushing over some delicate white thing that looked almost like lace.

"Aye," he told her, and she knew he was watching her, watching her take it all in. "The greenhouse was Liam's doing, but the idea comes from our mum." He smiled sadly. "So this room is your normal garden perrenials and annuals, the kind that pretty much anyone can grow. The roses are toward the back, we have some lilies over there - others are in the next room, the tropical plant room, along with the orchids and whatnot. Your stargazers are in there. But most of the work for the shop comes out of this room here."

"What's over there?" Emma asked, nodding her head in the direction of a closed off room to the left.

Killian scratched the back of his neck. "That's ... kind of like Frankenstein's laboratory, to be frank." Emma's brow furrowed.

"You're not going to cut me up and use my parts to build a woman, are you?"

He laughed then, shaking his head. "No, no, it's not women I'm creating in there, although ... " He looked at her thoughtfully, his fingertips reaching out to brush over the curve of her cheek, his thumb and forefinger pinching a lock of her hair between them then. "I could use this."

Emma's brow creased even more, and she watched his face, eyes searching for any sign of what the hell he was talking about. "You could use  _what_?" she asked him, her tone a little bit sharper than she'd intended.

"That's not ... that came out wrong." Killian blew out a breath, shaking his head. "Just ... follow me," he said, pulling back and heading into the so-called "laboratory". Emma hesitated for a moment, not really sure what was going on, before her curiosity once again won out, and she followed him.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but a room full of plant cuttings and assorted pots full of varying levels of soil, rock, sand and other things Emma couldn't even  _name_  was not at all anywhere on her list. "What  _is_ all this?" she asked, picking up a beautiful, vibrant orange lily that lie on the long "table" that really just consisted of two sawhorses and a wooden plank between them.

"I've been ... working on something for ... awhile now," he said, almost sheepishly. "I'm trying to cultivate a new breed of flower - a lily." That explained the various types scattered about the room. "Liam and our mum were so good at that - the orchids I sent you were a type Mum created, before she died, that we managed to keep going all these years." Emma felt her eyes pricking with tears then, touched even more that the flowers he'd sent her were  _that_  special to him.

She felt kinda bad for chopping them up in her garbage disposal. She probably wouldn't tell him that part.

"And Liam, he made  _countless_  variations of all sorts of flowers. I just ... I wanted to do  _one_ , something so that I could leave  _some_  sort of legacy." He sighed, a little helplessly, and Emma reached out for his shoulder. "I just hadn't been ... inspired, really. Until I met you." He looked at her then, and Emma swore all the breath left her then.

"Me?" she asked, though she wasn't  _entirely_  sure she'd even spoken out loud.

"You said you liked lilies, stargazers, and I thought ... maybe I could make something  _more_  beautiful than that, something ... something that would be worthy of you. I wasn't ... I wasn't going to say anything until I had anything to talk about, but you're here now and I can  _ask_  you properly ... I was, out there, I was saying I could use your  _hair_  - just a tiny bit of it, as part of the fertilizer. I know that's completely daft, and sounds like something a madman would say, but it's been proven that it works marvelously and ... I thought it would be fitting, being as it's  _your_  flower ... " His cheeks were bright red, he couldn't meet her gaze, and Emma couldn't be certain, but if it was possible to pinpoint the  _exact moment_  she started falling ...

This would be it.

She wasn't sure how to process this ... no one had  _ever_  done anything like this for her. Maybe it was a little out-there, a little unorthodox, but that was what made it special to her. "I don't know what it is you see in me," she said, shaking her head and looking down, twirling the lily she still held absently between her fingers.

"Everything," he told her, without missing a beat.

"Killian ... " Emma looked at him, feeling completely lost to him, in a way she'd never felt for anyone or anything before. Her breath was caught in her throat, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I lost  _everything_ ," he said then, still unable to meet her eyes, his voice thick with emotion. "My mother, my brother - I wasn't always alone here either, you asked before and I ... I was married. She got pregnant, and there were complications and ... " He shook his head. "That was five years ago. Five years, and nothing's been right since then. Not until I looked up."

Emma wasn't sure when she'd started crying, but her cheeks were wet as she listened to him, her heart going out to him, and realizing that the two of them were more alike than she'd ever thought possible. The circumstances weren't  _exactly_  the same, but ... close enough that it made no matter. "I'm so sorry," she told him, even though she knew, if he were like her, he wouldn't want her pity.

He leaned over then, thumbs brushing the tears off her cheeks before he kissed her again, a new kind of desperation there. She pulled back a little, hands resting on the front of her shoulders, her lips still brushing his. "Okay," she whispered softly.

"Okay?" he asked, confusion riddling his features.

"You can have some of my hair," she told him, laughing a little at how that sounded. "For the  _flower_." She sighed a little, grinning softly, her fingers threading through the hair at his temples. "I'm pretty excited to have my own flower."

He smiled at her, a little crookedly. "It's entirely possible that I'll just fuck the whole thing up, and it will all be for naught," he told her, pulling back a little to look at her better.

"But you're  _trying_ , which is a whole lot more than anything else has ever done for me." She flicked her hair over her shoulder, finding a somewhat hidden shorter layer. "Try not to bald me."

He laughed, reaching for a pair of shears and clipping the small piece of hair, tucking it into a small brown bag and setting it next to one of the pots. "I don't think anyone will even notice," he told her, kissing her again. "Thank you. Not just for that."

Emma didn't answer - there were a lot of things she wanted to say to him, but it didn't feel like the right time. She didn't want to take his pain and somehow turn it into  _hers_. But for the first time in a long time, she  _wanted_  to tell someone everything ... all the crap she'd been through, she wanted to share it.

And that was no small thing for her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the greenhouse, and God love him, he  _tried_  to teach her what he was doing, but she was pretty hopeless. "You might actually be worse at this than I was when I started out," he teased her.

She threw a clump of peat moss at him.

"Maybe I'll just pot  _you_ ," she muttered at him, watching as he carefully snipped away dead leaves and blooms and repotted this plant and that. She was more than content to just do  _that_  all afternoon. At least she wouldn't ruin someone's arrangement that way.

He laughed, shaking his head at her, plucking a daisy and tucking it behind her ear with a cheeky grin, stealing a kiss before returning to his work.

"So," she ventured, feeling her cheeks going warm and desperate to take the focus off of that little fact. "Are you going to let me  _name_  my flower?"

He shook his head. "Afraid she's already got a name," he told her, looking at her over the top of the tall plant he was working on now. "That much at least I have figured out."

"Oh?" she asked.

"I'm naming it for you. The aeterna lily." He looked at her, seeing her confused expression. " _Estis lux mea aeternum_ ," he said in Latin, sighing softly as he moved to stand in front of her. "It means 'you are the light of my life'."

" _Oh_  ... " Was all Emma got out before he was kissing her again.


End file.
